


Mesmerised

by SweetSorcery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Male Slash, Possessive Behavior, Slash, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-09
Updated: 2011-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry spends a lot of time staring at Malfoy. Someone doesn't like that at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mesmerised

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All canon referred to within belongs to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros. Inc., and possibly others. Non-canon bits were created for non-profit, non-infringement entertainment.
> 
> Archiving: Absolutely nowhere please, not even in translated form.
> 
> This was written in April 2006. Note that my more explicit stories may soon be locked to anyone but registered users.
> 
> Warnings: Harry is 17. If that makes him too young for hanky panky in your mind or in your geographical location, avoid.

"Detention tonight, Harry?" Ron asked with a cheeky grin.

"Very funny, Ron." Harry rolled his eyes. "But just for a change - no."

Ron's was a reasonable enough question, because more often than not on their double Potions days with Slytherin, Harry's evening would be spent in the dungeons, scrubbing disgusting substances off cauldrons. It was almost expected by now.

Automatically, Harry's eyes moved to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court, with his cronies listening attentively to whatever nonsense he was spouting. "Tosser," stated Harry, sulking at his pudding.

"Who, Harry?"

Harry motioned to the other table with his head, and Ron followed his eye line. "Malfoy, I s'pose?"

"Who else?"

"You really mustn't let him get to you like this, Harry," lectured Hermione on Harry's left. "Even Ron manages to mostly ignore him these days."

"I can ignore him if I want," protested Harry. "What I don't get is why he always seems to be sitting directly across from me."

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. "Well, sit on the other side of the table then."

"Harry's just keeping an eye on him, so Malfoy doesn't hex him while he's not looking," Ron declared, with some authority.

"Exactly." Harry shovelled some rum pudding into his mouth, his eyes straying back up immediately.

This time, he found himself looking straight into Malfoy's sneering visage. Apparently, the Slytherin had taken to staring back. Harry blinked, annoyed to have been caught looking, but when he pointedly diverted his gaze upwards to let it roam the head table, his eyes met those of Severus Snape, looking at him with disturbing intensity. Angrily, almost.

Harry shivered, though he couldn't have said why, except that Snape always unnerved him. After nearly seven years, he _still_ hadn't decided on a single emotion to associate with the man. But he knew that for some reason, the bottom seemed to drop out of his stomach whenever their eyes met. And held - like now.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione. Then she noticed Snape, looking particularly furious.

It was generally acknowledged among the female and a fair few of the male students, that once the first few years of sheer terror one felt in Snape's presence had passed, hormones tended to take over. The once intimidating glare became source material for many a wet dream, and while the man's voice continued to be a deep, menacing growl, the effect it had on the teenage anatomy changed rather drastically.

"I'm off," said Harry, oblivious to Hermione's ponderings and the fact that, if he were privy to them, he might learn a thing or two. "Can't be bothered with Slytherins tonight."

Hermione nodded to let him know she'd heard, then returned to her dessert, while Ron mumbled something uncomplimentary about bloody snakes and greasy gits around a spoonful of strawberry sponge.

Harry pushed himself off his chair and headed out of the Great Hall, unaware that only a moment later, someone else rose to follow him.

* * *

Distracted by vaguely angry and confused thoughts about Slytherins, and whether or not he should consult Hermione regarding his strange reaction to Snape these days, Harry didn't hear the footfalls behind him until it was too late.

Being gripped around his biceps and virtually lifted into a deep alcove in a corridor close to Gryffindor tower happened within the space of a second. Before Harry could get his bearings, someone else had joined him in the recessed space, raising a hand as if to strike him, or maybe cover his mouth, but letting it drop to circle his upper arm again instead.

Harry's eyes slowly adjusted to the semi-darkness. When he realised who he was looking at, he gasped.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice deceptively calm, though he wore his habitual scowl.

Harry stared up into a pair of black eyes churning with emotion. That strange sensation from earlier was back in his stomach in full force, and his first instinct was to flee. He struggled against his teacher's grip, without success. "Professor Snape?" His voice was nowhere near as steady as he would have wished. Harry had rarely in his nearly seven years at Hogwarts stood closer than a few feet away from Snape. The potions master tended not to allow people into his personal space, unless it was on his terms and solely to intimidate. So despite his rising anger and uncertainty, Harry couldn't suppress the random thought that he might be the only person at Hogwarts to know that Snape's scent was completely intoxicating. He probably used some dark potion or other, or Harry's knees couldn't possibly feel this weak.

Snape continued to glare at him silently. The only things to make him look remotely human were the angry fire in his eyes and the bang of black hair flopping softly over his left cheekbone. His hands were hot on Harry's upper arms through his thin red jumper, and while he clearly wasn't about to inflict violence on the Gryffindor, he made very sure Harry couldn't simply leave either.

Harry waited through the bizarre silence until his heart was pounding so hard, he wondered if Snape would hear it. He was about to demand an explanation, when the man finally spoke.

"You will cease looking at Mr Malfoy, Potter." This unexpected order was issued in a low, rumbling voice.

Harry shivered. "What? I don't--" He was instantly cut off.

"You certainly do, Potter. I've watched you do so for years."

Harry blinked. What was this? Did Snape think he was plotting Malfoy's demise? "Look, Professor," he started, unsure how to deal with this rather unusual situation. "I don't know why you'd think I look at Malfoy more than I have to, but--"

"Do you have to at mealtimes? During classes? Between classes? During Quidditch matches, whether or not either of your houses is involved?"

"What?"

Snape's grip on Harry's arms tightened, and Harry couldn't suppress a wince. "Stop, Potter! You're constantly watching him, and I insist that you stop." There was barely suppressed emotion in Snape's voice now, and it certainly sounded like anger.

Really, it was all too bizarre. Harry snorted, and with more bravado than he felt, asked, "Even if I did, which I don't, what does it have to do with _you_ , sir?"

Instead of answering, Snape pulled Harry up until his heels weren't touching the floor anymore and scowled at him. In this position, they were nearly of the same height, but Snape still had enough on Harry to look intimidating.

Harry, undecided between anger, terror and confusion, simply stared back, pondering of all things that Snape was virtually Malfoy's opposite in looks and colouring. And unlike Malfoy, who was as predictable as a plank of wood, Snape was a largely unknown entity. Still, after seven years. And why did this excite him? Damn his 17 year old body!

He didn't get a chance to be disgusted with himself. Voices and the shuffling of numerous feet came into hearing range - Gryffindors returning to their common room. Harry considered the obvious opportunity to escape. To his irritation, however, Snape didn't budge.

"Will you stop staring at him, Potter?" Snape hissed.

"No," declared Harry defiantly. "Why should I?"

A wry smile was Harry's only warning before Snape's mouth crushed down on his own. Shock, indignation and an ill-timed loss of equilibrium forced Harry to grip Snape's shoulders with both hands and hold on for dear life.

The passing stampede of students sounded a million miles away, dulled by the throbbing in Harry's ears which grew exponentially louder the longer the kiss lasted. The kiss... Severus Snape was kissing him! And he wasn't resisting. Oh God.

The attack on Harry's lips gentled minutely, and Snape's hands moved to Harry's nape and the small of his back. It was as if the man had sensed Harry's capitulation. But to make sure, he parted the lips beneath his own and breathed some much needed air into Harry's mouth, quickly stifling the responding whimper with his tongue pressing against Harry's own as if to say, 'hush'.

Harry began to return the kiss in earnest then, wedged tightly between Snape and the cold stone wall at his back. He was surrounded by the man's presence, his spicy scent, his ferociousness, and were his mouth not being ravished mercilessly, Harry knew he would be crying out his need without a thought for the dozens of students passing nearby. His fingers were digging into Snape's shoulders in a grip that must have been painful, and he rocked against the man, seeking and finding proof that he wasn't the only one aroused beyond all reason.

The steps and murmurs finally quieted down to a distant hum, and soon, all Harry could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rushing in his ears, and the alternating gasps from Snape and himself in between frantic, quick fire kisses. He felt boneless. Timeless. Completely overwhelmed and confused. And God, so desperately needy.

As if hearing his thoughts, Snape upped the ante. Harry gasped into Snape's mouth when a long-fingered hand slipped under his robe and made quick work of his trouser buttons, and before he could even consider what he thought of this, a surprisingly warm hand slipped inside and wrapped around his erection. The treacherous thing pulsed and moulded into the grasp as if made to fit.

Snape stopped kissing him, and Harry was about to cry out in desperation, when he realised that while the kiss may have ended, the hand was beginning slow, even strokes up and down his hot length.

Harry's eyes fluttered closed, but instantly, Snape hissed, "No! Look at me!"

Harry stared up into black eyes flaring with an emotion stronger than the anger they had shown before. Snape had his nape cupped in a hot, relentless grasp, effectively forcing Harry to hold his gaze while he continued to stroke him harder and faster.

"Professor!" Harry whimpered, shuddering and unsteady on his feet, falling into Snape's eyes and noting in the periphery of his blurred gaze that the Slytherin's brows arched in long, elegant lines, that his skin looked enviably pale, that his impressive nose was absolutely perfect in his face, and that his lips - wet from their furious kisses - looked like soft, flattened cushions. The man was simply breathtaking - how could he not have been able to put that into words before?

And then Snape was speaking again, and Harry quivered at the husky words and the exquisite touch. "Keep looking at me, Potter. Don't close your eyes. Not for a single moment." Then his voice lowered further. "Look at _me_ when you come."

Harry groaned. He felt the first beads welling from him, into Snape's palm, and his knees buckled when a quick flick of a thumb spread the moisture into his hot flesh and kept stroking, even more smoothly now. Faint and close to passing out, he knew he was hyperventilating. He wanted to be kissed again, to be probed by that hot tongue while he came. He gasped at a particularly fierce stroke, the smooth edge of a nail flicking against the underside of his tip.

"Come," Snape ordered. "Now, Harry."

A groan ripped through Harry's throat, and with a shudder, he spilled himself over Snape's hand while it kept pumping him - slick and slippery now - through the last of his shudders. And like he'd been told, he never looked away for a moment. He'd seen the hot flash in Snape's eyes when his climax had started - he'd never seen anything more exciting in his life.

When Snape leaned in and kissed his cheek with exquisite care, Harry finally allowed his eyes to close, his grip on the man's shoulders loosening and his fingers threading through smooth strands of black hair while they resumed kissing, more leisurely now.

Too soon, Snape moved back. He was smirking slightly. "You will stop looking at Malfoy."

Harry nodded mutely.

"I want you to look at me from now on." Snape lifted his hand and gazed at the glistening moisture on it as if in awe. Then he focused on Harry's eyes again, hotly. "And every time you do," he said. "I want you to remember me doing this." With that, he began to lick Harry's juices from the palm of his hand with an expression of utmost rapture.

"I will," Harry croaked, his eyes wide and his face delightfully flushed.

Snape took a step back but, with a sigh, returned to gently tuck Harry back into his trousers and zip him up. All the while, he kept looking at him. When he was about to turn away, he said, rather huskily, "Good night... Harry."

Harry still stared. "N... night. Professor."

While the man's steps faded in the distance, Harry's lips turned up in a smirk of his own. He wondered whether he should have mentioned that he had never looked at Malfoy in _that_ way at all.

 

The End


End file.
